Wolves In Winterfell
by Northen
Summary: Jon and Robb come across something in the woods. Her presence could change the path Jon sets for himself, and the future of the North. Set during A Game of Thrones. Jon/Other
1. Misha

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>The scent was clear on the cold wind. Misha immediately started to follow it, weaving her way silently between the trees. She could already taste the freshness of the meat; feel the deer's life's blood as she swallowed it, hot in her belly. Salivating at the thought, she quickened her pace, knowing she was gaining on her prey. She had eaten the previous day but the animal was small, not enough to satiate her hunger. She focussed solely on her hunt, ignoring the world around her, seeing, tasting, and smelling only the dear that was mere strides ahead of her.<p>

Seemingly, out of nowhere, a huge buck appeared. Misha had never seen one so big or so angry. She had just enough time to turn her body to protect her soft, vulnerable body. This was not enough. A thick antler, sharp as a man's spear caught her in the shoulder and punctured through eight inches across. The huge animal shook its head, flinging Misha ten feet away and tearing the puncture into a long gaping wound. Misha didn't even have time to find her feet when the animal was on her again; stomping her with its large cloven hooves. Misha howled in pain as the animal found its mark, breaking her front leg as though it was no thicker than a twig, she knew she could not get away from it now. Luckily, her howl was resoundingly loud enough to strike natural fear into the creature. The buck bounded away, following the path of the deer while Misha dragged her weakening body to the small protection of a looming oak tree before her vision faded to black.


	2. Jon

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>The woods were quiet; strange for this time of year. Perhaps the late summer snows had pushed the game deeper where there was more protection. Robb and Jon were only half paying attention anyways. Most of their focus was on the two young direwolf pups that were racing in and out of every hole they could find, not exactly being quiet. Regardless, it was nice to be out of Winterfell for a while. What with all the preparations being made for the royal visit, they were always being told to do something or to stay out of someone's way. They didn't see what the big deal was, the visit wasn't for at least two moon turns yet and so, they took the opportunity to take their wolves and horses into the Wolfswood.<p>

They had intended on bringing in a nice buck or if they were really lucky, a boar, but that wasn't likely. Instead they meandered aimlessly, letting their horses follow behind them at their own pace. Jon had just knelt down to look closer at what he thought may be a hoof print when he was interrupted by the high-pitched yelp coming from Robbs pup.

"What is it, Greywind?" Robb called, walking faster in the direction of his wolf. Jon quickly followed suit. They crested a small hill and Greywind had darted off again, stopping, racing back at them and forward again.

"I think he's found something. But where's Ghost?" Jon asked. "GHOST! To me!" he shouted. The wolf did not respond. The boys glanced at each other worriedly and raced after Greywind.

They found the pups a short ways off, Greywind standing protectively over what looked like a pile of fur and Ghost stretched out along the side of whatever it was. Jon called to Ghost again, "Ghost, to me," and again, he was ignored. The boys approached the pile cautiously, not sure whether it was alive or dead.

Jon kneeled down next to Ghost, who licked his hand affectionately before allowing his head to be patted. Jon could see a tangle of what looked to be human hair poking out from under the furs. Gingerly he pulled the furs down and away revealing the face of a young girl, drenched in the sweat of fever.

"Robb, come quick! It's a girl, and she is injured," Jon yelled, pulling the furs now further, exposing a rough-spun shift drenched in sweat across her shoulders.

Robb appeared behind Jon, his face expressionless with surprise. He hadn't seen many injuries that critical, or one that had lost so much blood. Without speaking he ran back for the horses. He knew if the girl had any chance at living, they must get her to Winterfell, and to Maester Luwin.

"Get on your mount Jon, I will lift her up to you." Jon nodded and quickly mounted and leaned down to take the girl. Robb lifted her as though she was no bigger than his little sister, Arya. There was hardly and weight to her.

Mounting quickly, he turned to Jon, "I will ride hard for Winterfell and ensure Maester Luwin is available. Ride carefully; we don't know how bad she is injured." From what they could assess, she had a deep wound across her shoulder and a broken arm. There was no way of knowing if her head was sound or if her insides were hurt. Jon nodded in reply as he watched his half-brother race west to the Castle.

When Jon reached the Castle, it seemed half the residents had turned out to see what it was that he was bringing. They cleared a path to let the horse through and Jon gently handed the girl down to his Father who would carry her to the Maesters chambers.

Jon dismounted and was met by Theon Greyjoy, a ward of Winterfell. "If I were you, I would have let her die," he started crassly, ignoring the look of shock that came to Jon's face. "She could be a wildling or an outlaw. Mercy does no good," he finished very matter-of-factly.

They happened to be passing Lady Catelyn when he spoke his last line. Fixing them both with a cold stare, she said, "Mercy seems to have served you well," before carrying on into the great hall. Jon suppressed the temptation to grin at the jape when he saw the look of scathing ire on the other boys face.


	3. Lady Misha

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television series.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>Warm. It was a feeling that seemed like ages since she had felt last. She laid in silence, with her eyes closed trying to remember what had happened and sense where she was now. She could recall immeasurable pain and being thrown and then just darkness and cold. She was sure she had died.<p>

She tried stretching out but immediately froze in place. Something wasn't right. Why was she laying on her back? She never slept on her back. And the smell was wrong too. She smelled fire and wine and...people!

Her eyes shot open and she saw a stone roof above her head where there should have been trees and sky. Everything felt wrong. Lying like this shouldn't be so comfortable. She moved to roll on her side but it wasn't her brown paws she was so used to seeing, but _hands!_

_No! She thought, not this, anything but this! I left this body behind. I don't want this!_

Panicking, she tried to push herself to a sitting position but a shooting pain up her right arm and shoulder stopped her. She yelled out in pain and let herself fall back against the pillows.

Her cry of pain brought an older man rushing into the room through a thick oak door.

"Dear child! You shouldn't be trying to sit up on your own, you're in no fit state," the man chided as he put his arm carefully across her back and under her legs to move her to a more comfortable sitting position. She tensed up under his touch, cringing away from him. "I won't hurt you. You're safe here, no one will harm you. Now, what's your name?"

Misha eyed the man warily. He seemed harmless and if he was going to hurt her, why would he have healed her? She was sure he had plenty of opportunities to kill her by now. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, strange against unfamiliar and flat teeth. She focused on moving her lips so she could enunciate properly. "Misha," she croaked, her throat was parched.

"Here, have a drink and we will try that again," he smiled at her, extending a goblet of wine towards her one good hand. She accepted it with a cautious smile and sipped at it. It was warm and spicy. It felt good on her raw throat.

Handing the cup back to the Maester, she tried again, "My name is Misha, sir."

"It is good to meet you Lady Misha. My name is Maester Luwin."

_Lady? She hadn't been called Lady Misha in a long time. She left that life behind her._

"Where am I, sir? And what has happened to me?"

"Why, young lady, you are in Winterfell, home of Lord Eddard Stark. As to what happened to you, I was hoping you would be able to tell us."

_What can I tell him? That I am highborn from a family across the Narrow Sea? That I was exiled as a shapeshifter and have lived as a direwolf for the past six years? They'll think I'm mad!_

"I...I don't remember," she lied. "I just remember being in a big forest then waking up here. How did I come to be here?" Her speech was coming more naturally to her now, she always had an internal dialogue but she hadn't physically spoken since she decided to remain a direwolf.

"Young Master Robb and his brother Jon found you when they were hunting almost a fortnight ago. Well, to be honest, it was their wolves that found you but the boys brought you here. But enough of that for now, I was instructed by Lady Catelyn to summon her when you woke. Do you feel well enough to speak with her?"

Misha nodded and watched the Maester exit the way he came.

While waiting, Misha, took in herself and her surroundings further: her arm was plastered and bandaged from her fingers to her elbow and there was a thick bandage covering a big portion of her shoulder. She wiggled the fingers of her right hand and a dull ache spread through her arm. Broken she guessed. Prodding gently across her bandaged shoulder, she deduces she had a long and deep cut. A glance in the pot next to her bed showed it was filled with old bandages. None of them were green; that was a good sign. Satisfied with how her injuries were being tended, she looked around to assess her room. A large stone fireplace filled most of the wall to the left of her bed; a spacious balcony was off to the right. Along the walls next to her bed were tables and shelves full of different jars and vials filled with potions and salves. That made sense; she was in the Maesters wing. The stone walls were draped in tapestries depicting different animals and places in threading of deep and vivid colours. They could make you think they were alive. Just as her eyes roamed over the door of the bedroom, the hinges groaned as it opened again. The Maester re-entered, followed by who Misha could only assume was Lady Catelyn.

Lady Catelyn was a very strict looking woman, not one that you would like to cross, Misha thought. Her hair was tied back very tightly, making the angles of her face appear very sharp. Her eyes looked at Misha immediately and expressed very little but cold judgement.

Misha swallowed her nervousness and moved to stand. She had not forgotten her courtesies.

"No need to get up child." Misha froze at the sound of her voice, filled with authority leaving no room for compromise. She sat back against her pillows, doing her best to maintain proper posture. She couldn't help but feel she was being judged by this woman.

"I thank you, Lady Catelyn."

"You're welcome. Maester Lewin says you don't remember what happened to you. We need to know something about you so we may decide what to do with you." Misha was sure that sentence wasn't intended to sound so threatening, making her out to be a problem. "What of your past? Family? Station? Education? Do you know about them?"

"M-M'Lady, my parents are dead," she started. She had been telling herself that lie for so many years; she almost felt it was truth. "I don't remember them. I was raised by my nursemaid and educated by Septons from across the Narrow Sea."

"Educated by Septons? You must have been high-born?" Misha shrugged silently. "What are your accomplishments?"

Misha hesitated. She didn't know why she was asking so many questions or to what end they would reach. Her silence evidently lasted too long.

"Your accomplishments. Can you read and write? Do needlework or sing? Do you know your sums?" she prompted.

Mishas family was very highborn. They had a palace on the shores of the Jade Sea but her parents were rarely there. They didn't like to take Misha with them because she didn't look like them. They believed she was cursed at birth because she looked like the people of the West. Despite that, she was educated to the levels that befit her rank until she was seen as a shapeshifter. Then she was exiled as a monster.

"Yes M'Lady. I can read and write the Common Tongue and High Valyrian and I can also speak some of the Old Tongue." She had picked that up north of the great ice wall. "I was taught my sums and how to do needlework. " Misha looked at her hands when she was speaking but would glance up at Catelyn to see if she approved. It seemed as though her severe features had softened slightly. "I play the harp, flute and lyre, I was taught to dance and also to sing, but I admit, I dislike it and do so very poorly." She was given no playmates as a child and so spent all her time being educated. She was taught the art of the sword and the bow by the Master of Arms, without her fathers' knowledge or consent but didn't feel that was information that Catelyn cared to hear.

The corners of Catelyns mouth relaxed a bit and moved into a slight smile. Misha took that for approval. "My eldest son and his brother wish to see you when you feel better. I will send a seamstress in the morning to make some you new dresses. You look to be the age of my eldest daughter. You shall begin lessons with her. Pray, what is your age?" she asked, as though it were an afterthought.

"I have seen four and ten name days. I am a woman grown, M'Lady." Misha knew she didn't look like a woman, certainly not one who had lived for fourteen years. She was just over five feet in heights and her frame was small but strong.

"A woman?" If Catelyn Stark was surprised, she hid it easily. "Very well, perhaps you can assist in my daughters' educations then, until we can figure out what to do with you."


	4. Visiting Misha

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>Jon shook the water from his dark hair before pulling his shirt across his shoulders. He, Robb and Theon had just finished their sword training with Sir Rodrik. He had planned on seeing how Misha was doing and wanted to make sure he didn't smell like the training yard. He and Robb had not been permitted to see her while she was staying in the Maesters quarters but she was moved into apartments near Sansa and Arya yesterday. Robb had a fitting for a new doublet for when the Royal family visited so it would just be Jon.<p>

"Come Ghost," he called to his direwolf before closing the door to his chambers and making his way quickly down the stairs, Ghost now close on his heels. Taking the final of the stairs, he ran into his father, almost bowling them both over.

"Careful Jon, we don't need anyone taking any falls."

"Father, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to be here." With Robb at his fitting and Theon in the village, no one else needed to be in that area of the castle.

"Where are you in such a rush to be anyhow? Aren't you and your brothers due for a fitting? I am sure Lady Catelyn had mentioned that this morning."

"I'm to visit Lady Misha today, Sir. Robb, Bran, Rickon and Theon are to be fitted but not me." Being treated differently and being left out from the other children wasn't new to Jon. He was after all, baseborn; the bastard of Winterfell.

"I see, well that will be rectified. You are my son and will be dressed as such," Eddard said with conviction. "I will have Catelyn arrange a time with the seamstress tomorrow, perhaps after the girls have been finished." Jon nodded in reply. "Speaking of girls, you said you are to visit Lady Misha?" Jon nodded his assent. "Good, you can deliver a message to her. Catelyn desires for her to dine with us tonight, if she feels up to it. Also, she is to meet with the seamstress tomorrow with your sisters."

"Yes Sir, I will see that it is delivered." Jon walked next to his father to the main hall before turning towards the girls' bed chambers. If a stranger wasn't told otherwise, no one would suspect Jon was not a true-born Stark. He carried all the dark features of his father, just as Arya did. They both lacked the auburn hair and vivid blue eyes that the other children had. Subsequently, he had a particular fondness for Arya.

Jon knocked lightly on the door, not wishing to disturb the young lady if she was asleep. He heard a quiet voice say "Come in." He lifted the latch and pushed the heavy door open. It was barely open a foot when Ghost squirmed his way in, "No! Ghost! COME!" In hindsight, bringing a direwolf, even a puppy was probably a bad idea. He rushed to push the door open, expecting to hear screams at any moment.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Ghost sitting next to the young girl, his head sitting on her leg. Misha didn't seem scared in the least; she was petting his head placidly.

"I-I'm sorry m'lady. I hope he didn't frighten you; he's really quite harmless," Jon stammered, bowing awkwardly.

"Not at all, Jon Snow," Misha answered, rising up to curtsy.

Jon was rendered speechless. She wasn't the thin, dirty girl that he picked up off the forest floor several weeks ago. She was beautiful. Her frame had filled out with proper nutrition, her hair and skin had been brushed and scrubbed clean and the result was a beautiful, young woman.

"I am glad you came. I wished to thank you and your brother for saving me and bringing me here. I know I would have died otherwise." She bowed her head but Jon caught the wistful look that brushed across her face for a heartbeat.

"I couldn't have done any less for you," he blushed. "I am glad you're healing well. I understand you're to make a full recovery?" She nodded in assent. Jon stood awkwardly for a moment waiting for her to say something.

"I am to help with your sisters educations, if I understood Lady Catelyns intentions properly. As a woman grown, I have no further need to continue mine and I would like to be of use as long as I am here."

"I am sure my sisters will appreciate the assistance. Arya in particular will like having someone other than Septa Mordane teaching her." At this point, Jon had taken a seat on a low foot stood. Ghost was still sitting with Misha, which was highly unusual for the creature. Misha seemed content enough with his presence so Jon chose to leave him there.

"Yes, I understand that Arya has less of an attention span than Sansa. I can understand that; I am much the same way. Teaching her will be a new experience; I hope I won't hinder her. I will do all that Lady Catelyn asks of me while I am here, I cannot permit myself to do any less."

Jon remembered his father's request: "Lady Catelyn requests that you join our dining party tonight. It's nothing formal; a simple family affair. Will you attend?" In his haste to say it, he all but blurted it out.

Misha was slightly taken aback, other than the Maesters quarters and the transferral from there to her new apartment; she hadn't seen any other part of the castle. "Of courts I will attend, although I don't know the way." She did however know there was no such thing as a simple family affair, especially in a Lords castle. A 'family affair' at her parents' home included a few knights, the maester, septons or septas, visitors and her father's wards. She would expect no less here.

"I am sure my father will send someone for you," Jon responded standing up. "I must go now, I have lessons to attend to before supper."

"Yes of course. Thank you for coming to see me, and for saving my life. I am in your debt." She rose with him and curtsied demurely.

Jon nodded in reply before calling Ghost and leaving her alone.


	5. Bastard

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

I'm not thoroughly pleased with this chapter by any stretch of the imagination, but it has served it's purpose. Sorry it's taken me so long. I do have additional chapters already written, they just aren't necessarily sequential to follow immediately after this. I beg you to bear with me.

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><p>When Jon had left her to herself, Misha couldn't help but wonder what had just taken place. Not the conversation she had with Jon; that had been plain enough. She was curious about his wolf. She wasn't afraid of him, not remotely. It was when she touched him...she could see through his eyes, see what he saw. It was as though they were connecting. She had tried to turn back into her wolf form several times since she had come to Winterfell but it seemed she was no longer able to do that. What had happened with Ghost was the closest she had come. She had also tried to make the connection without touching Ghost and it seemed she could to it for a second or two. She would have to work on that.<p>

While this was passing through her mind, she started looking through her new dresses. Lady Catelyn had sent a seamstress to her several days earlier and now Misha had more lovely dresses than she had ever had in her life. She absently wondered which one she thought Jon would like the most. He was handsome. He was taller than she was, even though they were the same age.

Jon had been right: Lord Eddard had sent a maidservant to both help her dress and to take her to the dining hall. Reaching the hall, she was momentarily confused as to where she would sit at the table until a dark haired boy she took to be Theon Greyjoy made it clear to her: "You'll be seated even farther down the table now, Snow. A bastard never comes before a lady," he bluntly stated in a cruel tone. She saw Jon's mouth clench in anger, luckily he knew better than to act on it.

"I have no concerns with sitting next to Master Jon. In many cultures, even a bastard son comes before a ward," Misha responded curtly in Jon's stead, standing between him and his youngest sister, Arya. "And all I've met have better manners as well."

She saw Theons eyes dart towards the head of the table to where Lord Eddard had apparently heard their conversation. He must have hoped Lord Eddard would chastise her; he was deeply disappointed in Eddards contribution, "the young lady is correct. Bastard or not, he is still a son of Winterfell, and you would do well to remember that." With that, Eddard ended the conversation by sitting down and asking the Septa to lead them through prayer.

Misha inconspicuously glanced over at Jon, being rewarded with a small smile playing across his lips. A contrary expression was masking Theons, a similar expression was on Lady Catelyns, Misha could feel her cold eyes bearing down on her.

Dinner was an unusually quiet affair. There were no knights or visitors; just the family, the Septa and Maester, Theon and herself. There was the usual chatter amongst the family; they were courteous enough to involve Misha when they could. The only exception, again, was Theon. He was sullen and put off an aggressive vibe.

After dinner was finished, Lord Eddard offered her a servant to escort her back to her rooms, which she declined politely. She wanted the time to see more of the castle, even if it was just seeing more of the halls in one part of the castle. It was while she was slowly meandering back to her rooms, stopping to take a closer look at a wall tapestry, that she was grabbed roughly from one side.

"Listen you foreign whore," the voice of Theon Greyjoy seethed in her ear as he shoved her into an alcove, "someone neglected to teach you your place here. I am a Lord and you will remember that!"

Misha refused to let the boy see her pain, even though it was searing up her arm in waves. Through gritted teeth she forced a response: "What are you lord of? Of Pike and the Iron Islands? Your _father_ is the lord there and if he so much steps foot off those islands in any way that isn't meek, he will be destroyed by the Kings Men and the Starks and your blood would stain the ground," she spat back; trying to shove him off her.

Theon had always felt as though he was getting the short end of the stick. He knew he was a ward, or a prisoner, call it what you will while he was at Winterfell but it wasn't something that was really talked about. He felt SOME respect. This girl would give him none of that. He would have to take that respect.

Just as he was raising his hand to teach her the lesson he intended, he was grabbed from behind and pulled away from Misha.

"Get away from her Theon! You're mad!"

It was Jon, now struggling for the upper hand. The boys were of similar height and strength so the struggle was difficult for them both. They both got a few good hits in before Jon knocked Theon hard into the hard stone of the corridor wall.

"You are nothing but a bastard, you will always be nothing," Theon spat, wiping the blood off his chin before walking away.

"Are you alright Lady Misha?"

"Jon, you're bleeding!"

Jon hadn't realized Theon caught him above his eyebrow. He put his hand against his head to stanch the flow as Misha pulled him towards her room.

"You don't need to do this, I can go to the Maester," Jon insisted for the third time. Each protestation as easily refused as the last.

"Nonsense, all head wounds look worse than they are. We aren't going to waste Maester Luwins time," Misha replied with finality, rinsing out the cloth in her wash basin again before dabbing it to his forehead again. "There, it looks like it has stopped bleeding. I've just to put on some salve and you'll be right as rain."

Jon watched her as she crossed the room to the various bottle given to her by Maester Luwin for her own injuries. She picked up one of the smallest ones, removed the lid and scooped a small amount on her finger and returned to Jon. She dabbed it on gingerly but oh! It hurt! Jon flinched back un unexpected pain.

"Oh don't be such a baby!" she teased, as she leaned in close and blew air on the salve; the coolness of her breath was soothing on the seemingly hot salve. "There, all done," she whispered, still leaning in very close, pushing his hair back so it didn't stick in the cut.

Jon felt the goosebumps spread across his body and fought the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. He was all too aware of the sudden tightening in his stomach and groin. He had to get out of there.

"Thank you, Misha, but I am afraid I must be going. I'm sure I have been missed," he said hurriedly standing, almost tripping over the footstool on his way out.

Misha had been around enough boys and men, most of which were interested in her fathers' estates; her inheritance, and knew enough about the world to recognise what happened. Jon liked her. And she found, for the first time, she didn't mind.


	6. Feast with Royalty and Rags

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television series.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>The Royal parade was as full of bustle and din as was to be expected and larger than one could have imagined. Bran, who had been climbing the castle walls and roofs, was the first to see the party and quickly informed his mother of their arrival...and promised her that he wouldn't climb the walls again. As lie, as everyone well knew. He was then sent to tell his father.<p>

The full household met the caravan and stood silent as the King made his greetings with the family; meeting with Ned after so many years quite jovially, commenting on Sansa's beauty, and declaring that Bran would be a soldier some day. Jon stood quietly in the background with Misha and Maester Luwin. The King knew of Jon, however, and had never acknowledged him as anything less than a son of Ned Stark, and thus acknowledged him in a similar fashion as he did Robb.

"Who is the young lady? Surely you haven't another such beautiful daughter I was not aware of?" Robert asked, with a hearty laugh, the insinuation that he had a bastard daughter laying thick in the jokes undertones.

"No, your Grace," Catelyn responded coldly, understanding the joke most thoroughly. "May I present to you, Lady Misha. She came to use quite injured. She is a ward of Winterfell until we can learn something of her family."

Misha curtsied demurely and said a quiet "your Graces" to the King and Queen both. Queen Cersei smiled approvingly at her absolute manners and introduced her children.

"May I present my youngest, Prince Tommen," she started. Tommen was quite young, a little older than Rickon, but not much more. He seemed a sturdy boy and his young grin was sincere, as was his bow. "My daughter, the Princess Myrcella," she continued. Myrcella was a pretty girl and an obedient one as well. Since exiting the carriage she did everything she was asked or prompted to with an absolute degree of precision. She would make a fine wife to some fat lord some day, Misha mused. Gesturing towards who Misha gathered to be the crowned prince, Cersei finished, "And my eldest son, the Crowned Prince Joffrey." Joffrey bowed stiffly, seemingly unimpressed with the audience before him. His eyes were coldly focused on her, despite his age being that of Sansa. Misha could already feel her abhorrence of him regardless of having never spoken with him.

The feast was planned for that evening, which provided the visitors with enough time to rest and get ready for the festivities Winterfell was providing. Misha presented herself with Sansa and Arya. Sansa was in a pale blue gown that complimented the red in her hair and brought out the blue in her eyes. She truly looked the part of a Tully and not a Stark. Arya, on her left, was in dark green. She carried the traits of her father, grey eyes, brown hair and a long face. She had no desire to host these nobles. Misha was in a burgundy gown of a cut different from the younger girls, as was proper since she was a woman grown. They presented themselves and curtsied for the royal family before turning to take their places at the table.

Misha was looking for Jon, to take her usual place but he couldn't be found. The gentlemen had already been at their seats and were awaiting the presence of the ladies before sitting. She saw Bran, Ricken, Robb and Theon but could not see Jon, nor could she see a place for him. The servers had appeared, prompting the beginning of the meal so she couldn't take the time to look for him. The meal passed quietly for Misha. She had the occasion to hush Arya once or twice when her complaints of her dress or her teasing her sister for making doe eyes at Prince Joffrey became too loud. Otherwise, it was simple answers to questions put to her by Robb or some of the lordlings that came with the royal party. Theon had thankfully ignored her since their altercation.

After the meal, she was yet free to escape the claustrophobic feeling of the great hall. She had been pressed into dancing with what seemed like every eligible young man in the room. It was several hours before she left the stifling room for the coolness of the stable yard. She leaned against the coolness of the stone and looked around, wondering if Jon was out here somewhere. She had heard from some of the yardsmen that Lord Eddards brother, Benjen of the Nights Watch was expected and thought perhaps Jon spent the evening with him. She did spy a light in the stable and made her way there.

He looked sullen most days but today it was even more evident. He was wearing the new clothes his father had him sent to be fit for but had not joined the party. Misha knocked lightly on the frame so as not to spook him.

Jon raised his eyes from his cup and when he saw who it was, jumped to his feet. "Lady Misha, good evening, I wasn't..." he wasn't to say he wasn't expecting her but that seemed stupid. Of course he wouldn't expect a lady to join him in the horse stables.

"Just Misha Jon," she smiled at him sadly. She didn't like to see him here all alone. He belonged in the great hall sitting with his brothers and sisters, a recognised son of Lord Stark. "May I come in?" Jon nodded. They sat in a melancholic silence for a few moments, Misha staring at her hands and Jon his drink. "Why aren't you at the feast?" she inquired, sure she knew the reason but wanted it confirmed.

Jon breathed in deeply, his eyebrows pursing together. "Lady Catelyn felt it would not be...appropriate for a bastard to sit at the same table with the Royal family." Misha nodded, her thoughts confirmed. "My father tried to include me by saying I could sit lower down or at another table but..." he trailed off again shrugging. He knew what he was; there was no point in denying it.

"You belong there," Misha said quietly. Jon shook his head but Misha continued before he could interrupt, "You are the son of Eddard stark. You've more right to be there than I."

"You're a Lady; that is irrefutable. A royal feast is no place for a bastard," he said with finality.

"A bastard? Is that how you see yourself?"She questioned, fully ignoring the tone of his voice, he nodded. "I don't see a bastard. I see someone with the same eyes and hair as his little sister," she started with a small smile staring to play across her lips, reaching across to him and gently moving a wavy lock of dark hair from in front of his eyes, those same eyes lifting to meet hers as she did so. She continued, "the same strength and accomplishments as his elder brother," her fingers trailing down the sharp lines of his face, "and a strong heart, that beats just the same as mine," she finished quietly, her hand settling warm against his chest. He looked to her with disbelief. "Jon," she said, trying to make him see one last time, "you are as much of a gentleman as I am a lady. We both are accomplished with but with little evidence of our family. In the end, we are one and the same." She finished in a whisper, over-conscious of his face coming closer to hers before their lips finally pressed together.


	7. Feast with Royalty and Rags, Part II

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television series.

The parts in Italics are quotes from the book, they are not mine, but they suited my needs better than my own words could.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write:)

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><p>Jon had awoke the morning of the arrival of the Baratheons with an excitement he had never felt before. He would not be standing with his brothers and sisters during the arrival, or even sit with them at the feast, but he was permitted to attend! He never thought that would be allowed to happen!<p>

With this knowledge, he took extra care in his morning ablutions. He wanted to show that he could look better than a common bastard, that he could be just as good a son of Winterfell. He knew he was not proper judge of appearances, but he did feel he looked rather well in his dark green tunic and black trousers. The only difference between his garb and that of his brothers is that he would be lacking the direwolf broach that all the children of House Stark wore with their cloaks or formal attire.

Jon made his way down to break his fast before he was met by Maester Leuwin, who informed him that his father wished to speak with him. Jon nodded his head and changed his course, heading towards his fathers' solar.

Jon felt a feeling of foreboding as he approached the heavy dark oaken doors. Jory, a familiar face Jon had seen every day in his memory was there and opened the door for him. His father stood at the large windows facing the Godswood. Jon swallowed before nodding his head in thanks to the Captain of the Guard before going into speak with his father.

His father wasn't facing him so Jon cleared his throat before speaking: "Good morning Father. Maester Leuwin told me I was called for?" Jon could feel his jaw unwillingly clench and unclench in anxiety.

The tense expression worn by Lord Eddard told Jon immediately that his anxiety was not unwarranted. "Good morning, Jon," he started, pushing papers around his writing table, willing himself to start with what he had to say. He looked at his son, the only son he had that looked the part of Stark. He saw his eyes and his looks reflected in the face of his bastard. Shaking his head, he pushed forward. "Lady Catelyn has spoken with me last evening," he started. It took every ounce of self-control Jon had not to roll his eyes at the mention of his step-mothers name. She had never liked him. Ned continued, "And she feels that it would not only be improper for you to attend the feast and sit at the table, but feels that the Queen may also find it offensive." Eddard looked at his son closely, wanting to see if he understood the implication or whether further explanation would be needed. He hoped not.

Jon understood all too clearly. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, "I will have my meal in the kitchens or in the stables before retiring to my room for the evening," he responded coldly. He hated being left out, ostracized for what was no fault of his own. He knew it was not how his father wished it, but the feast wasn't for Bannermen of House Stark and so, Lady Catelyn would have her way.

As was expected, after they were all gathered together in anticipation for the Royals arrival; their advanced notice was thanks to Bran; Jon stood behind his brothers and sisters. He stood next to Misha, which he couldn't complain about and was almost thankful at the insinuation King Robert had made about her being another bastard of Ned Stark. Of course, Catelyn had nipped that thread of humour in the bud quickly. After all the greetings were out of the way, the crowds dispersed, returning to their duties or preparing for the coming feast.

Jon was sullen for the entirety of the day. Despite knowing he was not attending the feast, he still wore his new clothes. He would not give Lady Catelyn or even Theon Greyjoy any reason to antagonize him. As everyone was attending the feast, it was unnoticed by almost all, the arrival of Benjen Stark. He was a sworn brother of the Nights Watch, but despite his Vows, he had not entirely forsaken his family and had a soft spot for the youth that met him as he crossed the moat of Winterfell.

Jon smiled in greeting to his uncle as he took the reins of the large horse. Benjen dismounted and embraced his nephew tightly. "Hello, Jon. How are you? You've grown nearly six inches since I saw you last!"

"Very well, Uncle. And you? What news beyond the wall?" Jon was, and always had been fond of his uncle. Benjen had never treated him as though he didn't belong.

They carried on with their idle conversation as Benjen settled his mount in the stables. He knew he would not be granted entrance into the Great Hall this night because of the feast. Jon did have a servant retrieve trenchers of food for their dinner though, so they did eat as well as the guests within. Their conversation eventually turned back to Jon.

"What do you plan to do with yourself? You are a man grown, if not now, you will be very soon." Benjen asked with clear concern on his face. He knew Jon would not, and could not inherit anything to secure an honourable future. He was educated and skilled though, that would be his salvation.

Jon looked at Benjen and shrugged his shoulders, "I assumed I would be taken on as a member of the House Guard. I've not given it much thought beyond that," he replied. He wasn't sure why his uncle was asking him about the future. Jon's future couldn't affect him.

_Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. "We could use a man like you on the Wall."_

_Jon swelled with pride. Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle._

"I am sure he speaks the truth," the black brother replied, smiling into his cup as he drank deeply. "But is it a life you would choose for yourself?"

Jon looked pensively at the question. He would be lying if it wasn't something he thought of before, but never truly serious.

_He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robbs bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? _

Benjen pressed on, "_The Nights Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honour."_ He sat his cup down, letting some of what he said sink into the youths mind.

"I will father no sons." Jon said resolutely. I will not pass on the name of Snow."

Benjen could see the look of finality on the boys face. "But do you wish to marry someday?" The older man saw a blush rise in Jons face almost immediately, and smiled affectionately. "Well?" he pressed.

"I never thought I would, not did I wish to but..." Jon's trail of thought tapered off with youthful embarrassment.

Laughing jovially, Benjen pushed further, "Well? Who is the young lady? Are you being a gentleman? Is she acting the part of a lady?" he teased.

Drowning in the red flush of his face, he told his uncle about Misha and how he felt she was the most beautiful girl – no woman; he corrected himself that he had ever met. After all but pouring out his heart to his dear uncle, he finished sadly with, "but it is all without end. She is a lady, I am baseborn."

"She is an educated child of the Gods only know of whom!" Benjen retorted, not wanting the lad to give up so quickly. Unless Lady Catelyn can prove otherwise, she has no place for protestations," he finished. Jon nodded his head, still not fully convinced. Benjen rose with a sigh, told his nephew to think further of his offer before making way to his sleeping place for the night. He would meet with his brother in the morning.

Jon's sullen state had not changed when he heard the light knock on the wooden door frame. He stumbled over his greetings, feeling stupid and clumsy. She was the only one who ever made him feel that way, feel so nervous. He hated having to explain why he was not at the feast. He didn't like being made to feel isolated, even more so when he did it himself. She knew he was a bastard, she knew! He almost felt angry with her, and would have if he hadn't been feeling so sorry for himself.

He forgot all that, the anger and his own sadness, when he felt her fingers across his forehead, gingerly avoiding the still-healing cut on his brow. He stiffened for a moment, but felt himself melt against her, leaning into her touch. Before he knew what was happening, how close she was to him, his lips were against hers, pressing gently, hesitantly.

He grew bolder, feeling her take the material of his double into a fist, and lean into him. His hands, which up until this point had been gripping his chair in annoyance, frustration and anger, slipped off the rough wood. One hand went into her hair and the other to her waist, pulling her closer to him, letting him deepen the kiss. He felt his heart start to race and a sudden burst of heat in his groin. He had never kissed a girl before; he couldn't imagine paying for a girl like Theon did. This was all new to him so he didn't know how to react when she suddenly pulled away from him.

"Lady Misha, I'm sorry, I should have..." he stumbled over his words, almost incoherently.

"No, Jon, it's not that. This was..." she was stumbling as much as he was. She also had never kissed a boy before. She pursed her lips momentarily gathering her thoughts. "Sansa is on her way outside to look for me," she explained briefly. She didn't know how to explain the flashes she saw in her head. Not Sansa, but her direwolf, Lady. She could see the feet of everyone in the great hall as she was laying under the table and then the voice of Catelyn asking where Misha was and then they were walking to the doors leading outside from the Great Hall.

As if on cue, they heard the clear voice of Sansa calling for Misha.

She stood, brushed off her skirts and said "We will talk tomorrow, Jon." She squeezed his hand, and left the stables.


	8. Explanations and Offers

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

Enjoy my story! Please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. and it is very disheartening to see over 400 hits in a single day and get only a couple of reviews. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

* * *

><p>Misha sat in her room, not paying attention to the conversation that flowed continuously from the handmaid's mouth. As soon as the braiding was done, the young girl left and Misha was by herself. She, just as before, had been thinking about how she could see with the wolves. She had tried seeing with all six of the pups and found she could do so quite successfully. The more she tried, the longer she could see through their eyes. She wondered where Jon was; she knew she needed to speak with him after last night.<p>

Breathing deeply she closed her eyes and though of the white wolf. It took her a moment, but finally she could see a wooden railing and a banister. She heard the sounds of wood hitting wood and children laughing and grunting with exertion. Opening her eyes again, she decided that Jon must be watching his brothers and the Princes practicing in the training yard.

She made her way downstairs, detouring around the Great Hall. She really didn't want to meet with everyone this morning, and made her way directly outside. She hurried behind the yardsmen watching the boys and headed up the stairs to where she last saw Jon leaning against the railing with Ghost close to his side.

The expression on his face was similar to how she saw him last night. He was standing at the other end of the corridor so she was able to observe him unnoticed for a while. His eyes were set intently on the yard where Bran had just laid the young Prince Tommen flat on his back and was poised to put him back there should he try to stand again. Misha looked away from the training as Joffrey and Robb took up their positions; and she continued her way towards Jon. She cleared her throat as she leaned against the railing next to him. She knew it wasn't proper for her to lean as she was or to stand as close to Jon as she was; especially without a chaperone, but she didn't care. All the rules were part of why she had left her family in the first place. She was found in the wild, no one should be surprised if she acted as one from the wild. She shook the impertinent thoughts from her head and turned to Jon.

"Hello, Jon. How are you? Did you sleep well?" She knew it was a weak opening but it was the best she could come up with. She knew she wasn't good with courtesies and fought the urge to roll her eyes at her own lameness.

Jon was immediately aware of their proximity and what anyone would say if they were seen as such and immediately took a step to one side, albeit a small step. "Good morning Lady Misha. I did sleep well," he responded awkwardly.

Silence hung heavily between the two youth until Misha couldn't take it anymore. "Jon, I wanted to talk to you about last night," she started, chewing her bottom lip nervously and glancing sidelong at him.

"I wanted to talk to you about it too," he started. "First of all I want you to know that..."

He was cut off by the unexpected appearance of Arya.

"Has Robb beaten him yet? I should like to beat him. I know I could, but father says I am not to play in the yard," she finished with a pout on her face, not even realizing the awkward conversation she had bounded into. "Misha, you've seen me fight, don't you think I could win?" the young girl carried on, leaning as far over the banister as her height would allow.

"I know perfectly well that you could win against any of those silly boys down there, Arya," she responded affectionately towards the young girl. "But I must let you argue that out with your brother. If you'll excuse me, I've meant to go to the Godswood for several days now," she finished looking pointedly at Jon as she said so before curtsying and leaving the siblings.

Misha sat in front of the heart tree. It felt like an old friend to her. She could recall seeing many of the old white trees north of the Wall. She was playing with one of the large red leaves when she heard footsteps approaching. Turning she saw it was Jon. She smiled at him but didn't say anything as he came and sat next to her. In the solitude of the Godswood, there was little chance of any unwelcome visitors as those from the South kept the Seven and had forsaken the Old Gods and therefore had no reason to seek solace amongst the weirwoods.

"Seeking wisdom the old Gods?" he questioned. She knew it was more a conversation starter, so she merely smiled at him. "Listen Misha, about last night," she opened her mouth to say something but he continued before she could, "I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong of me and inappropriate..."

At this point she did interject: "Inappropriate? Says who? And besides, I kissed you."

"Misha..."

"No, Jon. Enough of this 'you're a lady and I'm baseborn' nonsense; it's rubbish! I am an educated child of the Gods only know of whom!" She exclaimed in exasperation.

"What did you just say?" Jon asked with a very confused look on his face.

"I said," she started to repeat.

"I know what you said, where did you hear that?"

"What are you talking about?

"My Uncle Benjen, he was speaking with me last night, he said the same thing."

"Oh," she responded quietly. She was usually careful with remembering what he heard as a human and what she heard through the wolves. "It must have been a coincidence."

"You're not telling me the truth. How did you know what he said to me? You weren't listening in on us were you?" He was nervous about how much she in fact did hear.

"Not exactly," she started, falling back on her usual habit of chewing her lip when she was nervous. "Jon, can I tell you something without you becoming upset or thinking I am mad?"

Jon looked at her with an extremely puzzled expression before answering with "of course and I could never think you mad."

She was unsure how to start so she just jumped in, "Have you ever felt like you were connected with Ghost in anyway?" His puzzled expression didn't change. "I mean like you were a part of him?"

Jon's voice caught in his throat. When he was sleeping, he sometimes dreamed he was his wolf. Smelled everything Ghost smelled as he hunted, tasted the hot flesh of his kills. But those were just dreams. "What do you mean, Misha?"

"You know the tales of wargs, don't you?" Jon nodded. Misha took a deep breath before continuing, "When you found me in the woods, when I was hurt, I was attacked."

"I know that..."

"No, Jon, you don't understand. Before you found me, I had chosen to take the form of a direwolf. I am a shape shifter. When my family found out, they abandoned me for fear of what everyone would think. They told them I died of the greyscale. In my exile, I decided to stay as a wolf. It was easier and safer. I was attacked while I was hunting, it was a stag; I've never seen one so big. It was after that you found me. Ever since then, I have been unable to shape shift." She gave him a second to take that all in before she continued, "But what I have been able to do in its stead, is connect with the wolves of Winterfell. At first, I had to be touching them. I found that out the first time I met Ghost but after a while, I just had to focus on each animal." Jon looked more confused than ever. "You do believe me, don't you?" she questioned.

"I-I don't know what to think. You're saying that you can slip into their skins and control them?

"No, not exactly. I can see what they see but I haven't tried to control them. Like right now," she continued, closing her eyes to focus, "Ghost is pacing the edge of the wood trying to catch a rabbit. And Nymeria is running out of the sewing room with Aryas stitching; Septa Mordane is not amused. Lady is her usual well-behaved self sitting quietly at her mistress' feet. Shaggy Dog is patiently waiting for Rickon to catch up to him and Brans wolf is waiting for him to finish climbing the walls and come back down to the ground."

Jon looked at her with a look of incredulity on his face. "That's incredible," he said, barely above a whisper. "So that is how you heard what my Uncle said? What else did you hear?"

"I don't listen in on people conversations, if that is what you're thinking. I was just trying to find out where you were. I didn't see you in the Great Hall and I knew you would be with Ghost. That's how I knew Sansa was coming to find me after..." she trailed off.

"Why were you looking for me?" Jon wasn't accustomed to being sought after.

"Like I said, I expected you to be in the Great Hall and you weren't, so I went looking for you."

"Yes, but _why_?" he pushed again.

"Because, like I said last night Jon, we are one and the same," she responded putting her hand on his.

They sat in silence for a long while before Jon suddenly blurted, "My Uncle asked me to join the Night's Watch."

Misha pulled her hand back as though she had been burned. "What? And what did you say?" It felt as though her heart had jumped into her throat at his words.

"I told him it was something I had thought of before," he replied.

"And?" she pressed anxiously. She didn't want him to go.

"I told him I wasn't sure. I had to think on it."

"Oh," was her only reply.

"I have no lands to forsake and I will not have children bear the name of Snow. It would be a wise choice, but it would mean leaving my brothers and sisters behind."

"What about marriage? As a black brother, you cannot marry."

"Who would marry a bastard?" he said, almost to himself.

Spoken so quiet, he almost didn't hear it, she replied with "I would."

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><p><strong>AN:** Please review! It is very disheartening to see over 400 hits in a single day and get only a couple of reviews. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.


	9. Permission

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

If you enjoy my story, please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

Please forgive me for how short this chapter is. I actually moved a hefty chunk of this one to the next and almost all of the rest of the story is written now. I hope you like it.

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><p>Jon's mouth was absolutely agape. "You would marry me?" he choked out, not believing his own ears.<p>

Misha nodded, "I may not love you now, but I know I could love you easily and truly, Jon. And I would be a good wife," she went on, feeling as though she needed to, "I know how to care for a household, cook and clean if needs be, and I can tend a garden or even a small flock."

Jon stopped her, a blush already spread well across his face; "I would marry you, Misha, but you know Lady Cately wouldn't allow it." He had felt his feelings towards her quite strongly for some time now.

"We would ask your father." It was a statement, not a question. "He is by all respects, my proper guardian while I remain at Winterfell and Lady Catelyn is not your lady mother. Her permission is desired, but not required."

"Are you sure about this?" Jon asked, taking both her hands in his, "you would marry below your station."

"Yes, I'm sure," she replied, smiling. "And I do not feel as though I would be marrying beneath me. Come, let's go to your father." She stood up, pulling him up with her and didn't release his hand as she almost ran out of the Godswood.

They found Lord Eddard writing letters in his solar. Jon approached his father and requested a private word. Ned nodded and let both Jon and Misha enter, asking the Maester to leave them.

"What is it you wish to speak to me about, son?" Eddard opened.

"I've come to request your permission," he replied.

"My permission? What for?" Ned looked at the two youth with confusion clear on his face.

Jon took a deep breath to steady himself, looked from Misha; who nodded reassuringly, and then back to his father, "I humbly request your permission to marry Lady Misha."

Eddard looked astonished. He never would have expected that is baseborn son would be the first of his children to marry. If he was honest with himself, he expected the boy to take up his uncles' offer and join the Nights Watch.

Ned thought on the idea for a moment. He felt they would make a good match. Jon was an honest boy and Misha a respectable girl. He pursed his lips tightly before responding, "Jon, you know Lady Catelyn won't approve."

"I thought she might if you spoke to her of it. Misha has willingly offered herself to me."

"He's telling the truth, Lord Eddard. In all honesty, I asked him," she said, blushing while taking his hand.

Ned merely nodded and said he would speak to Lady Catelyn.

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><p>"Good evening, dear wife," Ned said as he entered their bed chamber, closing the heavy door behind him.<p>

"Hello, Ned," she replied, tying her dressing gown.

"Jon has made a request today."

At the mention of his sons' name, Catelyn immediately went stiff. Her immediate inclination was to reject the request before she had even heard it uttered. Instead, she responded with "Oh? And what was it?"

"He has requested the hand of Misha."

"No." Her answer was definitive and had it been something more minor, Ned may have let her have her way with it. He raised his eyebrows in question and she pressed forth, "she is nobly born and he is, forgive me, but a bastard."

He would not forgive her that, "HE IS MY SON! And we know nothing of the young lady. She has the education and the appearances of a highborn lady but other than that, we know nothing of her or her family. And Jon is a good lad. He is as well educated as any of the other boys."

"But she is not baseborn."

"Then I will ask Robert to legitimize Jon." He was confident that the King would legitimize Jon without question.

"You wouldn't!" She knew his answer without asking that question. "You would take the birthrights away from your children!" She was red in the face with fury both at how he was treating their children as well as what she viewed as his favouritism towards Jon, _his_ son.

They quarreled with his idea back and forth until they were eventually able to come to a compromise. Eddard would visit with the king first thing in the morning.

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><p>"You want to legitimize Jon as a Stark?" Robert Baratheons deep voice echoed in both confusion and humour. Ned nodded his assurance. "You know I will legitimize all the bastards in the country if you think them yours but what does Catelyn think?" He knew of Catelyns hostility towards Neds' son and had seen it several times since his arrival at Winterfell.<p>

"She has agreed to it based on some stipulations," Eddard responded, knowing there was no other way Catelyn would accept Jon as a Stark.

"Stipulations?"

"Yes. In view, he will stand between Robb and Sansa for appearance sake but he will not follow Robb in the line of succession as he would have, had he been born a Stark. He will follow last, after Arya. He does not follow at all in any succession in terms of Riverrun, as is to be expected, he is not of the Tully bloodline."

"Why still, would Catelyn agree to this? She has never shown any sort of affection for the boy."

Ned clenched his teeth together, debating on exposing the truth of the matter. "Jon wishes to marry Misha. Catelyn will not agree, as her guardian to let her marry a bastard, even if that bastard is mine."

"And Misha is in agreement with this...arrangement?"

"Of course, I would not come here if she was against it. No child under my roof shall be forced to marry against his or her will." He made this point clear as there was an understanding that Sansa and Prince Joffrey were betrothed.

"Very well then," he started calling for parchment, pen and ink, "I will draw up the documents. Jon will be a Stark by breakfast."


	10. Bran

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

If you enjoy my story, please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

A/N: My story is almost a year old! I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get it out. It is almost done. Without further ado, Chapter 10.

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><p>As promised, the documents were drawn, signed and sealed and by declaration of the King, Jon Snow became Jon of House Stark, second of his name. Eddard presented his son with the parchment and shared all the enthusiasm with him and his other children as the decree was spoken aloud. Sansa was, as she had always been, distant but Arya was nearly beside herself at being able to tell everyone that Jon was her true brother.<p>

Arya, who was not a stupid child, immediately wondered why this happened. "Father?" Arya chirped, trying to get her father's attention. "Father!" she yelled. This succeeded.

"What is it my child?" he asked, lifting her to sit on his knee.

She squirmed off his lap almost immediately. Baby's sat on their fathers' knee. She wasn't a baby. "Father, why did it take so long before Jon could be a Stark? He should have been one all along."

Ned nodded at his daughter. He agreed completely with her opinion. "Jon," he called, Arya would like to know why you've suddenly become a Stark.

Jon couldn't help but smile at his new name and the reason for it. He pulled Misha to her feet next to him. "Our father has made me a Stark so I have a proper name befitting a Lady," he replied. There were quiet murmurs around the breakfast table, most present understood the implication.

"What lady?" Rickon asked in his high, naive, child's voice.

"Lady Misha, Rickon. She and I are to be married."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Arya squealed with delight and rushed towards them.

"Really? Truly? You're to be my sister?"

"Yes Arya," Misha replied. "Jon and I are to be married. You and I shall be sisters," she finished, hugging the younger girl.

The wedding was to take place shortly before Ned, his daughters and part of his household journeyed to Kings Landing. Neither Jon nor Misha wanted anything elaborate so it would be a simple ceremony in the Godswood and a dinner only slightly more fancy than that of any other night with the exception that the Royal Family would of course be present.

It was difficult for Misha to shake Arya loose for many of those days. Arya was constantly asking if she could live with her and Jon instead of going to 'stupid Kings Landing with the stupid Queen and the stupid Prince'.

During a beautiful day when the King and Lord Eddard had escaped to the Wolfswood to do some hunting, Misha was able to slip away from Arya, and walk with Jon. They were walking amongst the wierwood trees discussing their futures and where they would live. That topic hadn't been breached. Neither of them had any land. They were at the mercy of Lord Stark and what he would provide them with.

"I am sure your father will be generous," she said in response to his asking her where they should live. Jon was still convinced that he was not worthy of a woman like Misha. Even now, as they walked arm-in-arm amongst the Old Gods, he could not believe she was his betrothed.

"It won't be a castle, it won't be like Winterfell."

"My dear Jon, I lived in the woods before you found me, amongst the trees and the wolves. I would be thankful for a hut. Winter is coming."

Jon smiled, "you've learned the words before taking the name. The Gods meant for you to be a Stark."

They carried on their walk, discussing how they would earn their keep, what crops they may sew or herds they'd be able to keep when Misha stopped suddenly, the blood rushing from her face.

Her expression struck fear into his heart. "What is it, Misha? What's happened?"

Her reply was barely above a whisper and she was gone in a dead run before Jon understood her: "Bran."

She was nearing the doors to the wall when she stopped dead in her tracks, breathing heavily from the sprint.

"What's the matter?" Jon asked.

"Summer, stop pacing!" was her hasty reply as she doubled back though the door and made her way to the abandoned tower, running full tilt with Jon on her heels. Her shoulder still gave her some grief but she could ignore that.

She made it to the tower and saw the young boys head hanging out the window. Misha took the stairs two at a time, Jon stopped in his tracks, not believing what his eyes were showing him. He fought the urge to chase Misha up the stairs and instead stayed outside in case Bran fell. Misha made it to the top of the stairs and saw Joffrey holding the younger boy at the dilapidated windows edge.

"Joffrey, let him go, you little ass!"

Joffrey spun, not expecting anyone. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to. I'm a Prince and this bastard attacked my brother," he retorted, shaking Bran by the collar held tight in his fist. Bran looked between her and the boy, his face etched with fear.

"Training in the yard is attacking now? So are you going to throw Robb from a window too because he beat you? Or is he too big for you to pick on, boy?" she spat back, taking another cautious step towards the pair.

"You bitch! Keep it up and I will throw you out right after this little shit!"

Without thought or hesitation, Misha moved faster than she had thought possible since regaining her human form and bounding towards the blonde boy, releasing a growl that was an echo of her former self. She tore Bran away from Joffrey and stood on all four limbs over him as she would have protecting a pup. "Leave him be or I will tear out your throat, you little coward. If harm comes to any person of Winterfell, you will meet your end and I'll be damned if I care about the crown you wear."

Joffrey was shaking with fear that had replaced the previous anger. "My mother will know about this! You will be sorry!" he cried, starting for the stairs.

"You go tell your mother and your father that you were bested by a girl and picked on boy smaller and younger than you. Be my guest," she spat venomously, still standing protectively over Bran.

Joffrey's face went red with rage but they both knew in that instant, not a word would be uttered about what happened in that tower.

Misha did not change from her stance over Bran until Jon had made his way up the stairs after watching the Prince flee.

"Misha, Bran! Are you alright? What happened?" Jon shouted, rushing towards the pair. Misha refused to move. "Misha, look at me, MISHA! It's me, it's Jon!" he yelled, shaking her good shoulder. Finally, her stance relaxed and she allowed Bran to get up.

"I'm fine Jon, Misha saved me. He was going to throw me out the tower!" Bran cried with a shaking voice, fright still clear on his young face.

"We need to tell father."

"No Jon, that won't do anything," Misha responded dejectedly, finally snapping back into the conversation. "It's our word against the Crowned Prince. If he makes an accusation, then we can make a rebuttal but unless that happens, I suggest we keep it quiet."

Jon saw the truth in that and nodded in agreement. All that mattered was that Bran was safe.

The three made their way down from the tower where Ghost and Brans wolf were waiting impatiently.

"You're a good wolf Summer," Misha said patting the pup as she passed him."

"Why did you call him Summer?" Bran questioned, walking next to her.

"He told me that was his name," she answered without hesitation.

Bran looked at her quizzically but seemed to accept her answer. "You can talk to our wolves?"

Misha loved the ease of acceptance and belief of the unimaginable that children carried. "Yes, I can understand your wolf and see him when he is away from me."

"Oh, I will like having a sister that can do that," he responded simply, putting his hand in hers.

The group made their way to the Great Hall for supper. It had been a long day and everyone was hungry. They kept their smirks to themselves when they saw the sullen sneers on Joffs face. Not a word was said about what had taken place in the tower.


	11. Wedding and Bedding

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

If you enjoy my story, please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

**A/N:** So yes, I saved Bran. I don't like seeing bad things happen to children. It makes me sad. I love fairy tales and happy endings. I'm a sucker, not gonna lie. As for this chapter, the title tells all. I'm not happy with it but we are getting close to the end. I don't describe the bedding at all. Saying that I LOVE to write about sexual encounters so I may write an independent one shot about that if there is any interest. Let me know if you would like me to.

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><p>The wedding was set to take place mere days before the Royal host and the members of House Stark were to go south on their return to Kings Landing. The hustle and bustle had been endless in the weeks leading up. There were feasts to plan, clothes to be made, ravens to be sent and everything had to be approved by the queen, more as a courtesy than a requirement, but as she was present, the final decisions were to be hers.<p>

The biggest quandary was Mishas maiden cloak. As she had no house, she had no sigil nor colours. Jon was easy; he would wear that of House Stark now. Ultimately, after many arguments and disagreements, it was decided that her cloak would be plain white with an emblazoned weirwood tree. The white symbolized her maidenhood and the weirwood represented the old gods.

Misha had also been graced with the gift of the Queens own seamstress having been commissioned to make her dress. Mishas only had one insistence and that was that it be kept in the Northern style; which was a lot less provocative than that of the south. Cersei accepted this request and the dress was made to perfection. The neck was arced high and seamed to a point at the tips of her shoulders. The arms were tight from the bicep to elbow before flowing out long and sheer to the wrist. The bodice was fit snugly to her hips and then spread generously to her feet, the excess material training out behind her. The whole dress was embroidered with vines, much of that work being done with Sansas' fine talent. Jon would be wearing the doublet that was fitted for him for the Royal Feast. He had been presented with his Direwolf broach the same day he was presented with the declaration confirming him as a legitimate Stark.

Jon and Misha were still unsure what were they were to live after their nuptials. Nothing had been asked or told and as much of the household would be leaving, they both had assumed they would remain at Winterfell for the time being. Despite this, they had noticed there had an unaccountable number of strangers laden with parchment entering and leaving Neds' solar over the past few months, but with the intent of so many leaving so soon, they weren't overly intrigued.

After what seemed like an eternity, the date of the wedding arrived and Misha was awoken by Sansa acting most undignified, very unlike her.

"Misha! You must get up!" she squealed, almost pounding on the high bed. "You must be bathed and brushed! You must be ready!"

"Sansa," Misha started, her eyes struggling to open against the early light, "it's early, we've plenty of time."

Sansa had been more excited about the wedding than he had been about Jon becoming her true brother. She had always loved fine things and she was envious of the finery of Mishas dress and that the Queen herself had approved of everything. She firmly believed that she would have everything and more when she was to marry Prince Joffrey so she tried not to show that she was _too_ envious. The thought of the boy still made Misha seethe with disgust and hatred.

Grudgingly, Misha did rise and allowed an infinite number of handmaids scrub and trim and clip her all over until she was pink and groomed. No rough nails to catch on sheer and fine garments and no dirt to soil them inadvertently. When it came to her hair, Lady Catelyn shooed away the maids and insisted on doing her hair herself. Braids of thick brown hair were twisted and knotted all around her head while wisps were allowed to peek out here and there. It was a style common to the Riverlands but Misha still thought it looked lovely.

Her maidens cloak was secured around her neck and she made her way downstairs to where she would be meeting Lord Eddard, who would be leading her into the ceremony in the place of her own father. Jon would already be waiting in the Gods wood. Eddard looked handsome. Misha could see much of him in Jon. He was waiting for her; dressed in his best clothes, his face clean shaven, his cloak newly sewn with his sigil embroidered heavily on his back. He smiled at her as Catelyn handed her over. He wrapped her arm around his and patted her hand affectionately.

The yard had been cleared and fortunately, the late summer was generous and held off any rains. The paths were clean and dry. The leaves had barely begun to show the hints of the on-coming autumn. The tips of red and orange shone bright in the sun. The Gods wood was full; the rough-hewn benches were filled with the upper members of the guard, the family, maester, liege lords of surrounding houses on the one side and of course, the Baratheons and their esteemed host on the right.

Thought Misha and Jon both preferred the Old Gods, they knew there was next to no ceremony to perform in front of the Heart Tree and out of respect for Lady Catelyn and the southern visitors; they had agreed to perform the ceremony of the Seven. The statues of the Father and the Mother stood on each side of the heart tree. Jon was waiting for her between them, Septa Mordane patiently waiting to perform the rites of the ceremony.

Eddard handed Mishas hand to Jon and kissed her lightly on each cheek before untying the cloak, folding it carefully over his arm and taking his place next to Catelyn. Misha turned to Jon and smiled warmly at him before turning her attention to the Septa, who had gestured for the audience to be seated.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

Jon and Misha exchanged the appropriate words; clearly from memory. They both knew the New Gods were merely for courtesy. The vows were said and the songs were sung and just like that, in the eyes of the Gods and men, they were married.

The feast was full of drink, good food and jovial conversation. When time came to dance, Jon and Misha were passed around from partner to partner as though they were wine skins. Eventually and unfortunately she was made to dance with the Prince.

"My lady, you are fortunate that Lord Eddard is no noble," Joffrey opened their conversation with a sneer.

"And why is that Your Grace?" she responded pleasantly. She was not afraid of the boy.

"It is my understanding that some still follow the barbaric tradition of the Lords Rights."

Misha immediately understood what he was talking about. A Lords Right was to take the maidenhead of a newly married woman before she was bedded by her husband.

"I know Lord Eddard and he would never consent to such a terrible thing even it if hadn't been outlaws ages ago."

"Yes, that is a pity. I naturally, outrank Lord Stark and would take great pleasure in fulfilling his duties in that respect." Joffrey had tried several times during the dance to pull her closer and had not managed it.

"You wouldn't live long enough, Your Grace," she responded still smiling but anger simmering just below the surface. His visual reaction was immediate but before he could respond, the musicians had finished. She curtsied politely and turned away.

She was able to spend the next dance with her Lord Husband. She let him know the particulars of the conversation with Joffrey and managed to restrain Jon, whose first instinct was to lynch the boy.

"Ignore the child, my Lord Husband," she said with a smile. Joffrey was no threat to them. She wished to forget him altogether. Jon was still focussed on him. Misha grabbed his chin and kissed him to deviate his attentions.

It worked. Jon still was not used to such affections and blushed as thoroughly as he had the first time they had kissed. "Lord Husband is now, my Lady Wife? Lord of what?" he responded smiling in turn.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered; and it was true, he did not hold any land or truthfully any titles. "Lord of whatever we want!" Their conversation carried on jovially until again, the song ended and she found herself partnered with Sandor Clegane, the Hound for the next.

She smiled at him politely. She was never nervous with him, she felt no fear or animosity and didn't feel that he regarded her any different.

"Good evening, Clegane."

"My lady," he responded, which was surprising since he despised titles.

"I'm glad you've come to dance with me. I have a request of you," she started bluntly. She knew how Joffrey was and how he would inevitably treat Sansa and had also seen how the Hound behaved towards her and felt he would do what she asked of him.

"What is your wish?" he question, confused plainly seen on his face.

"I ask that you do all in your power to protect Sansa. I don't believe she will be as safe with the Prince as she believes she will be." Sandor nodded his agreement. "Wolves are not meant to bed with Lions. Will you watch her and do what you can for her?" Misha pleaded.

Sandor looked at the young woman long and hard, trying to read something in her eyes. He looked over her shoulder to where Sansa was currently dancing with a broody prince and merely nodded.

The drinking and dancing went long into the night before a few of the rowdier knights shouted that it was time for the bedding. The woman all crowded around Jon, pulling and tugging at his buckles and straps, pushing him towards the tower stairs where they would be spending their first night.

Likewise, a group of the men crowded around Misha and started tugging at the numerous folds of her dress. Robb and Sandor both made sure that she remained appropriately covered upon reaching the bed chamber. They pushed her through the door where she would face her husband bearing all that the Gods gave her for the first time.


	12. Dark Wings

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

If you enjoy my story, please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

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><p>Misha was right when she had said Lord Eddard would be generous in their wedding gift. Several days after the wedding, they were requested to join Eddard for a ride to a neighbouring cluster of villages that was just beyond the convenience of Winterfell, north of Holdfast and northeast of Tumbledown Tower, on the edge of the Wolfswood near the White Knife<p>

They came upon a fair-sized keep made of stone. To both Misha and Jon, it resembled a much smaller Winterfell, right down to the Glass Garden. Misha was choked with gratitude and happiness. As soon as they had dismounted, she threw her hands around Ned thanking him a thousand times for his generosity.

Ned led them into the house where they were met with their new household. Some were familiar faces from Winterfell and others were new people, presumably from the neighbouring villages.

"Well Jon, you are the Lord of your own keep now." Jon couldn't speak. He never imagined in a thousand years that he would be presented with such generosity. He had gone from a bastard to a Lord in just over a years' time. "Well son, what shall it be called?"

Jon looked at Misha who was standing at the window, taking in the landscape the Woods and road on one side and marshland leading to a bay on the banks of the White Knife far to the right.

Without turning, she responded "Fenmere, my dear Husband."

Eddard laughed. "Happy wife, happy life, Jon. Do you agree with the naming?"

Smiling, Jon responded, "Yes, father. Fenmere will do well."

"Good." Ned bent over some parchment on the table and signed in the name Fenmere on several blank spots on various pages. "Now, Lord Jon of Fenmere, do you swear fealty to House Stark and Winterfell? To come to our aid whenever it is asked of you without question knowing that desertion of this oath will result in being stripped of all lands, titles and should the prevailing lord see fit, your life?"

Jon took a knee in front of this father and bowed his head, "I swear fealty to House Stark and Winterfell. To come to their aid whenever called without question or hesitation, I swear it on the Old Gods." He knew his father would not insist he swear it on the new Gods.

The documents were signed, witnessed and sealed. Ned went over their holdings so both Jon and Misha knew what was now theirs and left them.

Over half a year had passed in peaceful quietude. They had ridden to the villages that were now theirs to keep and learned the names of the persons on the councils in those villages, learned of any concerns and did what they could for those concerns. They were happy and peaceful until the sight of a raven on a cloudy day made Misha's blood run cold.

_Dark Wings, dark words._ Lord Eddards words came easily to her mind at the sight of the raven flying towards Fenmere. Quickly, Misha walked back to the keep from the garden where she had been tending to the weeds, preparing it for planting.

Jon was already waiting in the yard for the raven to land. He deftly pulled out the small scroll tied to the creatures' leg.

"What is it? News from Winterfell?" She asked nervously. There had been word from Lord Eddard at Kings Landing that things hadn't been going so well since King Roberts' death. Misha knew better than to trust Joffrey to have anything remotely close to honour and he made his dislike of the Stark family plain when he stayed with them, despite being betrothed to Sansa.

She feared the worst when she saw his face.

"They've taken my father prisoner and named him a traitor. He is being charged with high treason and accused of attempting to usurp the throne. Robb has called the banners and is riding south with an army intent on bringing them home." He pulled her into his arms as he finished.

"And you are to go with him?" she asked into his shoulder. She knew the answer; there was no question in her mind. They had only been married for barely six months. It hardly seemed fair that they would be separated so soon.

"I must go with him. He is my brother going to save our father. I can't let him go alone. Besides, our house belongs to Winterfell. I am honour bound to go." He held her at arm's length. They had just started their lives together, he didn't like leaving her alone so far from Winterfell but he had his fathers and sisters to think about also. He knew Misha would be safer with the small guard at Fenmere than his sisters would be with a whole army in Kings Landing. "I will leave Ghost here, he will protect you."

"No, Ghost must go with you. As long as he will with you, I will know you are safe," she replied, making it clear in her tone that there was to be no discussion about it.

Jon only nodded in resignation. Part of the reason he wanted Ghost to stay was so she wouldn't see him die, if it came to that.

He called for his mount and had it saddled and bridled as Misha collected a few provisions and packed them in his saddle bags. With a hurried kiss and a tight embrace, he was gone with the men and Ghost tight on his heels and Misha was left alone. Again.


	13. To Jon

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment. The character of Misha is mine and does not appear in any of the books or the television.

If you enjoy my story, please review, I do enjoy reading peoples thoughts and opinions on what I write. Please share with me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Criticism, both good and bad helps all authors improve.

**A/N:** Double whammy this week. I had actually intended on the last chapter being one of the last chapters but then I woke up with an idea and that idea wouldn't let me sleep. So, looks like this story will be longer. I hope you like the direction it is going, let me know. I love hearing what people think.

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><p>The weeks passed fearfully for Misha. She tried not to slip into Ghost and Greywinds skins as often as she would have liked, but sometimes she couldn't help it. On this night in particular, with the winds of the oncoming winter swirling were noisily outside the keeps windows preventing her from even a fitful sleep. She stood and paced the room several times trying to persuade herself to let the wolves be.<p>

'_What harm could it cause?_' she thought to herself. She knew that her presence in the wolves caused them distraction and should she slip in at the wrong time, it could be their death. She didn't want that. She hadn't seen Jon in a couple of weeks. Ghost had strayed away. _'It's night time, if anything, he will be hunting, he won't be fighting.'_ She wasn't convincing herself at all. She sat down in the chair, took a deep breath and let her mind wander. Almost immediately, she was met with snapping jaws, clanging steel and blood, oh the blood! It was everywhere. Ghost was streaked with it, Greywind too. Jon and Robb were nowhere to be seen. The yelling was overwhelming and Misha was risking the wolf. She could feel Ghost fighting against her presence, fighting for his life. She slipped out of him quickly and ran to her wardrobe.

Grabbing the first bag of a decent size, she threw it on the bed, rang the bell for the steward and started throwing garments in the bag. All sensible things; thick wool dresses of spun wool, warm small clothes, trousers as well as lighter clothing for the warmer weather of the South. A light knock on the door revealed a very tired looking steward still in his nightclothes.

'You rang, My Lady."

"Yes Jentos, please have the stable hand prepare my horse. I will be leaving for a long journey. I leave Fenmere in your hands. Whatever happens, protect our people. Let them into our walls if need be but don't let any harm come to them."

Jentos looked confused but he did not question his mistress. He merely nodded and rushed away, sensing her urgency.

Misha finished packing quickly and rushed to the main floor and to the kitchen. Jentos, being the capable man he was, had already woken the cook and had a bag of provisions packed of foods that would last the longest and provide the best nutrition. It didn't consist of her favourite foods, but that wasn't important.

Jentos met her in the stable and began affixing her bags along with a heavy blanket to the saddle as she clasped her greatcloak.

"Remember Jentos, protect the people. They need Fenmere. Winterfell is too far for them and the Dreadfort is not to be trusted." Shortly after being granted the lands surrounding Fenmere, the Dreadfort had written to Winterfell complaining of infringement of lands. Misha did not trust them as far as she could throw them.

Jentos nodded and with a kick of her heels, the horse tore off at a gallop. She rode the horse hard for days. She stopped for a fresh mount at Winterfell and explained her situation to Catelyn, ran further and made additional exchanges at Moat Cailin and the Twins. Lord Frey let her cross with little difficulty. He had made his exchanges with the Starks already. Misha thanked him for his hospitality and road on. She periodically slipped into the wolves to gain her bearings and slipped out again. She slowed her horse when she was almost certain she was lost. She had seen little sign of the host for the past two days and was growing anxious. She retrieved the map the Lord Frey had given her and looked closely at it, trying to anticipate what the men would do. She decided that Riverrun would be her best shot and road for it.

It wasn't long before she was warned by the sound of clashing steel, shouting men and braying horses. It made her own mount nervous. She relieved tired beast of its burdens, stashed her saddle and its contents under the heavy roots of an old oak and made her way to the noise. She knew Jon was in the fray, she could sense him. She had in her rush, enough mind to pack her bow and that was all the protection she had. She met few men as she darted between the trees, the Stark men recognising her sigil immediately and reacted with surprise, the Lannister host was not given enough time to react, an arrow through their throat stifling any cry.

All senses were heightened for her, she could hear every twig snap, every dying cry and finally Jon. He was covered in blood, but it didn't seem to be his own. He was against a man twice his age and almost twice his size and he was losing. The big man almost had him against a tree and Ghost was too far away, attacking another man. Misha watched as he did everything he could. She could see him calling to his wolf but it was clear, he would be lost if nothing was done. Jon was forced to his knees and Misha couldn't take it anymore. She dropped her bow and quiver and ran without thinking. The big man stopped in surprise at a woman's' voice yelling. His surprised expression turned to fear when Jons' name turned into a raging snarl and before anyone could see what was happening, Misha had transformed into a goliath brown direwolf, and was on the man, now exceeding his weight, pinning him to the ground and was tearing out his throat.

Jon got over his surprise quickly and Misha quickly moved onto new targets after seeing Jon back on his feet, sword in hand. Between Ghost and herself, Jon was the most protected man of the bunch. He knew Robb needed that protection so he made his way to where he saw his brother last. They quickly spotted Greywind and rejoined the battle. Robb did a double take when he saw the unfamiliar wolf but didn't let it distract him for long. An extra set of teeth on his side was a more than welcoming sight.

Three direwolves and the Stark host was ultimately more than the Lannister host could bear and they were, in the end, successful. They managed to capture Jaime Lannister who was pinned against a tree on three sides by the wolves. He stood no chance and dropped his sword. Misha reached her paw in and slid the sword away from him when she would have much rather slashed his throat out.

Once Misha was convinced that the enemy was safely put down, she nudged Jon and beckoned for him to follow her, still growling at anyone she didn't recognise, regardless of their sigil. Jon laid a comforting hand on her neck; quieting the rumble. She would try to change form for him. She led him back to the thick oak; sniffing around long enough to make sure they were safe before lying down. She closed her eyes and willed herself to regain her human form. Almost immediately, Jon had her wrapped in her great cloak and she was enveloped in his arms.

"Oh, Misha, why did you come?" Jon was almost crying. He hadn't loosened his grip on her. The only other time he had felt the fear he had when he saw her running towards him unarmed, was when he saw his little brother almost dangling out the tower window. Seeing her so open and vulnerable as she had been while running at that man was like that and so much worse.

Misha was crying. She had never felt that much emotion before. "Jon, I was so afraid. I didn't see you for weeks. I knew you were not dead but I saw so much blood, so many dying men. I had to come, I had to find you." She clasped onto him tightly, as though he would disappear if she let him go.

"What were you going to do? How did you make yourself change?" Jon had so many questions.

"I don't know and I didn't know I could. I just knew I had to do something. I couldn't let him kill you."

"I think you saved all of us," he answered. Finally, he pulled away from her gently. "Come, let's find you proper clothes. I am sure my brother would like a few words with you."


End file.
